


Killing darlings

by crayyyonn



Category: Day6 (Band), GOT7, MBLAQ, Team B (Band), Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-03-05 04:42:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayyyonn/pseuds/crayyyonn
Summary: Includes plotless drabbles / fic outtakes /sections that didn't make the cut / other stuff that I've worked on here and there that aren't going anywhere and are hence killed. Basically an unedited and unbeta-ed dump please approach with caution.Titles/summary + pairings in chapter titleshere





	1. Untitled (Avengers - Clint/Coulson)

“I am gonna fucking kill him.” 

Never pausing in his typing, Phil distractedly replies, “Just don't make a mess.” 

Clint is sputtering. He ignores it. He’s on the wrong side of halfway through the Bogota after action report that Fury had demanded the minute he got off a five-hour flight, less than half an hour ago; he has no time for this.  

Besides, Clint didn’t even bring him coffee. 

“I swear I will, Coulson. I swear I’ll do it.” 

Phil hums in acknowledgement, hitting the backspace a little harder than warranted to correct a misspelled word. “Fine.” 

“Fine?  _ Fine? _ I say I’m gonna kill Wade Wilson and all you say is  _ fine _ ?”

Clint’s voice has a tendency to take on a shrill edge when he’s agitated, Phil notes, exasperated. 

“In case you missed the memo, Barton, Wilson has a healing factor. Short of--” Phil pauses. Better not give the archer any ideas. “You won’t be able to hurt him. Much.” He considers, then adds, “At least not permanently.”

“I will shoot him,” Clint mutters.

“Use him as a pincushion if you want,” Phil replies. “Now. Do you mind? Fury needed this yesterday.” 

Without looking up from his laptop, Phil gestures toward the door. He’s really not surprised when he hears a muffled thump that signals Clint planting himself on the couch in the corner of his office. He doesn’t have to look to know that there’s a shit-eating grin on Clint’s face. 

Shaking his head, Phil tosses him the dog-eared book he had been reading the last time. 

“If you stay quiet. And next time, at least bring me coffee.” 

“Sir yes sir,” Clint replies happily.


	2. Flagellum (Team B / IKON - Hanbin-centric)

These days, Hanbin tells the time by the soreness in his body.

A boy not quite twenty shouldn’t be feeling aches this bone-deep, he thinks as he rolls his neck to stretch out the kinks. Not having known anything but this life, though, he can’t be sure. Sighing, he clicks save and waits. His eyes are uncomfortably dry from having stared at the bright screen all night, and he cannot wait to finally leave the trainee building and tumble into bed, hygiene be damned.

As he packs up, he glances at the screen just before it powers off. 3.17am. Not too bad, Hanbin thinks to himself. He’ll be able to get at least four hours of sleep before practice tomorrow--a luxury, by their standards. If he hurries, and leaves food and washing up to tomorrow morning, he’ll probably even be able to squeeze in an extra half an hour.

He steps out, locking the door securely behind him. The hallway is still lit up and devoid of the usual cameras and crew milling about, trying to secure whatever footage they can in the precious few hours they are given to film. With their most recent evaluation behind them and the next one not for another month, their instructors had declared the rest of the day a free for all. Hanbin waved them off until the last blinking red light switched off, then ducked back into his studio.

Or his pine box, as Bobby likes to say. It’s a running joke among the trainees that if Hanbin ever fails to return to the dorm, it’s probably because he’s lying dead in his studio. Hanbin usually laughs it off, but on days like today, when he feels every single one of his nineteen years and more, the proverbial nail feels uncomfortably close.

It feels strange to be alone. On nights like these, Hanbin can usually count on the presence of Bobby to keep him company, but he’s busy with Show Me The Money 3 and working on carving a place for himself in Korea’s rap history. Hanbin feels the residual bitterness surging and pushes it away firmly. He’d fucked up, end of story.

Jinhwan had stayed with him for a bit, fiddling about on his phone while Hanbin tracked the same four chords over and over in increasing frustration, before he was dragged off by Donghyuk and Junhoe who had come to proposition him with a trip down town. His apologetic look was short-lived, Hanbin knows, because less than an hour later, a picture of them enjoying ice cream was uploaded to their group chat on Line with an accompanying _‘Missing you, Hanbin-ah’_. Hanbin had promptly replied with the most obnoxious sticker he owns.

He’s making his way toward the elevators when the door to a rehearsal room ahead of him pushes open with a soft creak, a figure stepping out.

“Jinhyeong? What are you doing here so late?”

 

Hanbin knows he isn’t the best when it comes to people.

He isn’t like Jinhwan, with his nurturing, caretaking instincts, or Bobby, who genuinely likes everyone and is so naturally warm he practically rivals the sun. Instead, Hanbin watches and waits, keeping a tight fist on himself as he observes and weighs just how much he can receive in return before giving them his affections. Jinhwan chides him about it, telling Hanbin that his fear of getting hurt will one day be his downfall.

To which Bobby had laughed and told Hanbin that it’s fine, they’ll be the moderators to his awkward turtle-ness, not to worry, and sealed the promise with a bump of their fists.

True to their word, they were always magically there to hold him afloat when Hanbin is drowning in himself, too bogged down by the all-too familiar weight of responsibilities and expectations. As the hopes and dreams grew from threes to multiples of six, so did the number of hands stubbornly pulling him up, up, up, until Hanbin had no choice but to let go, release the clench of his fists and the snap of his spine until he can breathe again.

It wasn’t instantaneous, but one day Hanbin finds that he didn’t have to compulsively replay his words in his head after they were said, that he consciously didn’t want to hold back, that their inhales and exhales matched. Trust can be a double-edged sword, Hanbin knows all too well, but it’s not the case when it’s with Bobby and Jinhwan, and later, Junhoe and Yunhyeong and Donghyuk. For once in his life he’s got someone to count on, somewhere to be, to belong, and even when they lost it felt like they had won because for once in his life, it felt like he was finally moving forward, before it all came to a grinding halt.

It’s a test of his capabilities, he knows. An assessment of his "leadership skills". A trial to measure just how little sleep he can function and survive on. Still, it’s been three years, and precisely because it's been three years, it stings to know just how much he is trusted. (Not enough, it’s never enough.)

And then all he sees are doe eyes and a bashful smile and hears “Bobby hyung” and the sting burns.

 

Life as a trainee is pretty much what people imagine it’s like. Days filled with neverending practice, under the watchful eyes of their instructors, and nights filled with more practice under the even more eagle-eyed Hanbin.

“Tiger instructor”, Bobby jokes on camera. The resentment rings loud in Hanbin’s ears.

Hanbin’s sorry, really he is, but every second spent not perfecting a move or a harmony or a rhyme is another second against their impending debut, another grain of sand that doesn’t fall. They’re racing against time, except time is the tortoise and they’re the hare and the hare is getting impatient for the sandglass to fill up, now that they are so close to the finish line.

He confides this to Donghyuk once, when they are cross eyed from exhaustion and slurping piping hot ramen from the convenience store at the corner. Donghyuk merely nods and tells Hanbin that what follows is inevitable. The tortoise wins, the sandglass tips over, and they start all over again, with more sand and less time, but--

“That’s life,” he says, sounding wise beyond his years. They all are, they have to be.

 

Life goes on.

 

And so it’s back to the cycle of dance lessons, vocal lessons, rap lessons, acting lessons, etiquette lessons, language lessons, wash, rinse, repeat. For Hanbin, there’s also songwriting lessons, producing lessons, impromptu how-to-be-a-good-leader lessons whenever Jiyong has the time.

He doesn’t really mind. Most of the time he gets a meal out of it. 

It takes him three of these lessons to come to the realization that they aren't as impromptu as he'd thought, and he would corner Bobby and Jinhwan for being nosy fucks, he would, except he's so adrift he'd take anything as his anchor right now. Leader lessons don't include babying and taking care of feelings, so Hanbin lets it all out, lets Jiyong tell it to him straight when he gets two new additions and then another one, lets Jiyong lay out facts and numbers when it feels like the world is collapsing around him. Jiyong's coldness at least tempers the buffeting pain. 

Thing is, Hanbin hates change. He hates this optimistic (brutal) version of putting all the eggs in one basket, hates the president's ambitious attempt at decoupaging, with young lives and ambition as material. He hates the very thought of starting at square one again, doing it all over, again, failing, again, with no direction except toward an end that is just as fleering as in the beginning, if not more. 

But what choice did he have? He's just a cog in the machine, destined to listen and obey and obey and listen. Hanbin resents it, resents them, all of them, but what's there for him to do except pick up the pieces and put them back together, put the group back together. By the time he realizes he’s still fallen apart, it’s much too late. The tortoise has won, the sandglass has tipped and is filling up but much slower now because the bulbs are bigger and it’s ironic, but for the hares, time is running out even as it plods steadily on. 


	3. 3/5 kisses (MBLAQ - G.O/Joon)

01.

The first time was an accident. 

They were midway through some game or other for Sesame Player—the Apartment Game, if Joon’s memory serves him correctly. The call was for second floor. Cheondung, surprisingly quick on his feet this time, was already lying prone on the mat, cackling away. Seungho and Byunghee, without even glancing at each other, had obviously decided to gang up on Joon, who’s attempting to dance away from two pairs of determinedly outstretched hands. 

“Come on, Joonie, just give in,” Seungho cajoles, an evil glint in his eye. 

“No! Never!”

Twisting away from the fingers that were pulling on the hem of his sweater, Joon bats the hands away and glares. 

“I’m not gonna lose this time!” 

“Aw, Joonie, you really do believe that.” 

“Come on, Joonie hyung, don’t delay the inevitable,” Cheondung pipes up from his position on the floor. “You know there’s no chance in hell.”

Joon narrows his eyes. “Disrespectful brat. I’ll show you he-”

He’s so busy dodging Seungho, Joon momentarily forgets that there’s another person who’s out for blood. By the time he realizes, it’s already too late. Byunghee pounces, strong arms wrapping around his waist, tackling Joon onto Cheondung. 

But Joon’s not about to give in just like that. Mid-fall, he twists and grabs onto Byunghee, trying to flip him around so he’s on the bottom instead. He miscalculates, though, and Byunghee’s face—Joon is pleased to see his gleeful expression being quickly replaced by dismay—grows closer, and closer, and closer still, until it collides with Joon’s with a loud thunk. 

The pain from their faces smacking together is secondary to that which travels through Joon’s back when his shoulder hit the floor, and secondary still to the bite of Byunghee’s teeth splitting his lip open. 

Hissing in pain, he pushes the older man away. Next to them, Cheondung and Seungho are rolling on the floor, convulsing with laughter. 

“Stop it,” he complains. 

He licks at his lip, wincing at the sting. It’s split all right, Byunghee hit him so hard he actually drew blood. He glares at the culprit, who’s holding himself up over Joon with one arm, the other rubbing at his mouth. One cheekbone is sporting the beginnings of a bruise. 

“Fuck,” Byunghee curses, and the director finally yells cut. 

Laughter rings throughout the set now that there’s no need to hold it back. Even the stylist can’t stop giggling as she gingerly dabs at the cut on Joon’s mouth, despite all the glaring he does. 

He eventually stops. Contorting his face hurt too much, almost more than the bruising of his pride. 

“Does it hurt a lot? It looks bad,” Byunghee says as he examines Joon over the stylist’s shoulder. 

“And whose fault do you think it is?” Joon says moodily. 

“You were the one who grabbed me.” 

“You grabbed me first!” 

“If you’d just gone down on second like you’re supposed to…” Byunghee starts to argue when they are interrupted by the director.

“We can’t use that shot since you swore, Byunghee,” he says, sounding disappointed, though he waves off Byunghee’s apology. “But we’ll bleep it and put it in the NG cuts. Joon, you okay to continue filming?”

Joon shoots him a thumbs up since the stylist is applying concealer to his busted lip, and the director nods before heading back to the crew. 

“Sorry, Joonie. I know it hurts.” For what it’s worth, Byunghee does look sorry. 

Shrugging, Joon points at his cheek and says, “It doesn’t sting as bad now. But you should ice that before it gets worse, hyung.” 

Then he adds, “Next time I’ll be the one to bite your lip.” 

Byunghee just outright laughs at that.   
  


02.

The second time is during their company’s annual Christmas party and Joon nearly smacks himself for being Seoul’s biggest cliche. 

He’s been avoiding Eunji all night. The trainee had this glint in her eye each time she looked his way, and a few meaningful glances at the ceiling later, Joon is struck with the cold realization that she intends to trap him under the mistletoe. 

Mistletoe! Whoever heard of people putting them up these days, in Korea, no less! His one consolation is that at least not very many people are taking the cheery sprigs seriously, besides Eunji. 

“It’s actually quite common, hyung,” Cheondung says with a sage nod. “We had it up at our house last year.” 

Besides him and Mir too, come to think of it. The youngest two had been caught under a sprig earlier, happily pecking each other on the cheek in front of an enthusiastic crowd. 

Joon shakes his head in mock despair. “Are you even Korean, Cheondung?” he asks before changing the subject. “Have you seen Seungho hyung and Byunghee hyung?” 

Cheondung shrugs. “They’re probably coming later? Mir should know.” He scans the crowd, his height giving him an advantage. “There he is.”

They make their way through the crowd, chatting to various people on the way. ‘MBLAQ’s having a great year’, one says; ‘We knew you boys had it in you’, chimes another; and by the time they reach Mir Joon’s had more champagne and toasts in the ten minutes crossing the ballroom than in the past hour since the party started. 

Smiling prettily at the last woman ‘I never understood why my daughter liked you but now I do’ standing between them and their youngest band mate, Joon heaves a sigh of relief when she turns, having caught sight of another target. 

“I hate these things,” he grumbles as he tugs at his collar. It’s uncomfortably tight around his throat. 

Mir grins, without an ounce of sympathy. “After the way you and Cheondung hyung disappeared and threw me to the wolves earlier? You deserve it. In fact, you deserve it so much I’m wondering if I should tell you Eunji’s about three yards away from grabbing a hold of you…”

A glance over his shoulder confirms it. “Crap.” 

“Just let her catch you and get it over and done with, hyung,” Cheondung advises between snickers.

“Yeah, hyung. Why are you so afraid of her anyway?” 

“She ambushed me outside of the toilets, Mir. Three times just this month.” He shudders in horror. The laughter doesn’t stop. Another quick glance behind him, she’s closing in. “I gotta go.”

He slinks through the crowd, waving off well-wishers, drawing his head as far into his shoulders as possible to avoid detection. He’ll go to the practice room down the hall, he decides. No one ever goes there; Eunji would never think of looking for him there. He’s nodding to himself, pleased, when he walks straight into someone. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes automatically, before realizing who it was. “Hyung! You’re here!” 

“Hey, Joonie. Where’s the fire?” 

Dressed in a neatly pressed suit, Byunghee is all perfectly coiffed hair and slightly tipsy smile. Joon narrows his eyes. 

“You’ve been drinking with Seungho hyung, haven’t you?” he accuses. “That’s why you’re so late!” 

Byunghee just grins and pounds him on the shoulder. “Don’t mind, we adults needed a break from the kids.” 

“Who are you calling a kid!” 

“Only kids sulk, Joonie. And run away from girls and mistletoe. Afraid of cooties?” 

“Who says I’m afraid? I just—I’m just waiting for the right person. I’m not afraid.” 

“Really?” 

Joon follows the finger pointing upward to see tongue-shaped leaves and white berries. Even the plant is obscene. The single arched eyebrow is so irritating, Joon yearns to smack if off Byunghee’s face. 

“I said ‘right person’, hyung. You’re not it.”

“Ah.” Byunghee nods. “Of course. Let it not be said that our baby Lee Joon is afraid of a bit of mistletoe. It’s just a bunch of leaves and berries, after all, but—”

He’s cut off when Joon grabs his face, pressing their lips together forcefully. Joon is exceedingly pleased with the squeak that escapes. There’s a wet smacking sound when he pulls back. The look of shock on Byunghee’s face is intensely satisfying. Joon smirks, licking his lips. 

“Who’s afraid?” he challenges. 

Byunghee just blinks. Then he gestures at something behind Joon. 

“Oppa!” 

Or more accurately, some _ one _ . Ah, fuck. 

Turning, Joon reluctantly greets, “Hi, Eunji.” The sweet smile on her face sends chills down his back. 

He doesn’t see Byunghee grin, looking very much like the cat that got the cream.   
  


03.

The third time, Joon isn’t sure whether to count it as a kiss. 

“Joon, you’re on in three minutes!” 

Struggling with his jacket, Joon barely acknowledges the stagehand. Curse stylists and their fondness of putting him in tight outfits. Joon knows he’s fit, but there are better choices in the band—Cheondung, for one. Byunghee too. The guy likes his loose sweaters and ratty t-shirts but Joon’s seen him in the shower more times than he can count, and he really doesn’t know what he’s so intent on hiding. 

He tugs on the sleeve. Then he really does curse when he hears something rip. 

“Shit. Yejung noona, a little help?” 

Twisting his shoulder as best as he can, he gingerly tries to extricate himself from the constricting fabric. Then there’s a pair of hands on him, tugging and adjusting, until he’s finally in the blasted garment. 

“Thanks, noona,” Joon says. ‘And get something looser next time’, he doesn’t say. He concentrates on straightening his sleeves. 

“One minute, Joon. We need you on standby now!” 

The young stagehand looks harried and stressed out, and Joon shoots him a quick, apologetic smile as he follows him out into the wings. Byunghee is already there, staring at the monitor intently. 

“Hey hyung.” 

“What took you so long? I thought Yongsu was gonna pass out from stress,” Byunghee says with a familiar wave. Joon lifts an eyebrow, surprised. Since when did Byunghee get so chummy with the staff, he wonders. 

It’s Seungho’s turn onstage, his solo. He’s decked out in a white suit as he sings and teases out melodies on the snowy white grand piano. With the spotlights shining down on him, it looked like he had a halo around his head and Joon is enthralled. 

“Seungho hyung looks like—” He’s interrupted almost immediately by Byunghee. 

“Don’t say angel.” 

“—an angel.” 

Next to him, Byunghee groans. “You’ve heard him grinding in his sleep, dude. That’s no angel noise.” 

He sounds so disgruntled, Joon shoots him a sly grin. “Why, hyung, you jealous?” 

Byunghee snorts, but before he can come up with a cutting reply, Seungho’s coming off the stage. He shoots them a quick thumbs up as the stylists swarm around him, and then they’re being ushered on, fumbling a little in the darkness. They’re sharing the next number, a brand new, never-been-released uptempo dance track written by Cheondung, with choreography so intense they’d spent the better part of two weeks trying to get it right. Not that Joon is complaining. That’s two weeks of getting Byunghee all to himself—his nonstop ribbing, sure, but also his kindness and the special care he always seems to take when he’s with Joon. 

It’s only recently that Joon noticed. 

Byunghee has always been kind, almost maternal in his caring. With Seungho, Byunghee plays friend and confidant; with Mir, the partner-in-crime. He’s the ever-supportive hyung to Cheondung, and the dependable adult their managers and other staff rely on. 

He’s no different around Joon, except he’s more subdued, gentler. He’s the friend who goes the extra mile, who drives across town with a single phone call. He’s the teammate who laughs when Joon inevitably says something dumb on camera before following up with something even dumber. He’s a hyung who looks out for him constantly, helps him out, takes care of him without making a production of it. 

After seven years, Byunghee has slowly but surely become his rock. Joon sometimes wonders if he’ll ever be the same for him. 

The music rips through the air, the crowd, the floor of the stage and they slip into their routine, comfortable as second skin. Under the blinding lights and the sea of twinkling light sticks held by cheering teenage girls, the notes turn wild and primal, lighting a fire in Joon’s veins so his blood rushes to match the thumping beats. 

Joon twists around toward Byunghee, movements sinuous and showy, teeth a gleam of white in the darkness of the stage. Byunghee takes two steps toward him, then one back, just like they practiced, although this time, there’s a smirk in his eyes. It’s echoed in the twist of his lips and it sends a shudder down Joon’s spine. 

Joon’s never one to back down before a challenge, though, even when it’s one that’s got Byunghee’s face half cast in shadows, making his expression unreadable. Or well, especially when the older man looks like that, all dark and dangerous and… Joon sucks in a quick breath. 

He shimmies forward with the beat, body swaying automatically through the familiar moves, a full body roll bringing his extended fingers just shy of Byunghee’s chest. Byunghee grins and reciprocates in kind, going a step further to surreptitiously, daringly run his thumb over the outer seam of Joon’s pants. 

Joon’s swallow is loud in his ears, even over the music hammering on his eardrums. Between that and the thundering of his pulse, it’s a wonder that he is even able to hear the fans, but he does, somehow, and they’re lapping everything up. He’s mere inches apart from Byunghee, the latter’s eyes full of invitation and it’s exhilarating, addictive. It’s making his thoughts go molasses-slow and his skin prickle with heat and Joon can’t help himself. His eyes slide half closed, body swaying forward. 

The spotlights pulse erratically above them as smoke swirls over the stage, and for a moment, the world falls away. Joon’s not sure if their lips actually touch, but there’s a wet patch on his bottom lip and in the dip of his chin that dries on a shaky exhale. The beat drops and they spring apart. 

No one notices, Joon thinks, just this side of relieved. The cheers seem louder, although that’s probably thanks to the synchronized body rolls they’re currently doing from opposite sides of the stage. They finish the performance without incident and are rushed off the stage, exchanging high fives with Mir and Cheondung when they switch places. 


	4. Creature AU (GOT7 - Gen)

It was the year 2012 when JYP Entertainment decided to go where no entertainment company had ever gone before. 

“We have had years of peace. The last civil war was at least half a decade ago,” JY Park, leader of JYPE and resident alpha wolf, expounds to his attentive audience. 

“People had come to accept the fact that those they've once thought to come from legend, those they once thought of as mystical, sinister, or downright impossible, live among them now. We’re their colleagues at work, their children’s classmates, their cab driver, their cashier at the supermarket. We negotiate deals, trade recipes, intermarry. In this very room, we work together every day, regardless of genetic code. With all of that setting a precedent, I think it’s time.” 

Here, he pauses and levels a significant look around the room. Mainly to catch his breath after that impassioned spiel, and just a little for effect. 

“I think it’s time for South Korea’s very first creature-human idol group.” 

A few beats of absolute silence follows his pronouncement, before the room breaks out into shocked conversation. 

And JYP, The Asian Soul, presides over it all with canines on full display.

 

The media gets wind of the plan as soon as it was put together. A global audition, open to anyone between the ages of 14 and 24, regardless of gender, nationality, or species. For weeks, the headlines screeched about the sheer ludicrousness of recruiting creatures as trainees, let alone debuting them, getting more and more vocal as auditions went on. 

_‘Impossible’_ , predicts Chosen Ilbo succinctly; _‘Too many uncertainties to work’_ , says The Hankyoreh. Korea Economic Daily pronounces it the _‘Worst business decision in the history of the Republic’_. And by the time they’re down to the final twelve, Dispatch has published a total of twenty-three exposes documenting JY Park’s crumbling mental state, complete with anonymous anecdotes and blurry photographic evidence. 

As expected of a wolf, the tabloid laments. They all go mad sooner or later, it’s all that howling at the moon. 

Netizens, both human and non, remain united in their division over the issue. Comment wars are constantly breaking out in new polls and op-eds, which appear unfailingly all over news blogs and social media platforms every day. Some are adamant that this heralds a new golden era for _hallyu_ , while others lament at the imminent destruction of Korean society as they knew it. Yet others liken it to the opening up of Hollywood a few years ago, and how some of the most prominent international entertainers of the day aren’t human themselves. 

“And this is _before_ they even realize that we’re putting together a hybrid group,” Joon says, sprawling out on the tan leather couch in what is technically his boss’ room as he studies the open folder in front of him. Boys of all ages and genome type look back up at him, clear eyed and clean faced. He spares a moment to mourn their innocence. 

“They’ll find out soon enough,” JY Park replies absently, fingers flying over his keyboard. The busy _click clack_ of the keys fill the wide space. “I can’t wait.” 

“You’re courting trouble, Jinyoung, both with the media and this group you’re putting together. I’m telling you.” 

“This was partially your idea, you know.” 

“I was drunk,” Joon defends. “You know my brain-mouth filter ceases to exist when there’s _somaek_ on the table.” 

“And I, for one am very glad it does.” 

There’s a _swoosh_ that indicates an email being sent, and then the scrape of chair over carpet when JY Park stands. Joon doesn’t pay him any attention, although he instinctively keeps his legs splayed and chin lifted. It’s a habit that hasn’t quit even though they’ve been boss and employee for years and friends for more. 

“So? What do you think?” 

Joon reaches forward to pick up one of the photographs, slotting it in the middle of the six already laid out on the table. 

“This one. He’s inexperienced, but I heard him sing at the audition. He’ll do.” Elbows on knees, he looks up to meet amber eyes. “Are you sure about this?” 

“One hundred per cent.” 

“Okay then. Let’s do this.” 

 

Seven months before the debut of GOT7, six of the members meet each other for the first time in their designated practice room. It’s one of the few that tucked into a corner of the building basement, with wooden flooring, a wall of mirrors, and no windows. Plain and nondescript, it's uninspired interior belies it’s exterior of reinforced steel. They’ve been given it ostensibly because it’s spacious and because it happens to be one of the ones that haven’t been claimed by their seniors who have come before them, but Yugyeom knows it’s mainly because no one could predict what’s going to happen. 

Forgetting their species differences for a moment, one can’t expect anything less than chaos when a bunch of teenaged boys are thrown together. On the plus side, they do get a couch, a pantry, and their own private bathroom, which does kind of make up for the lack of natural sunlight. 

Yugyeom eyes the other boys in the room, half listening as Bambam whispers into Jinyoung’s ears, a bony elbow digging into his hip. Gossip, most likely. They’re sitting close together on the couch, putting up a solid human front against the other three, Jackson included. The winner of the China leg of the auditions has so far displayed an over-friendliness towards the nonhumans that has Yugyeom instantly wary of him. Perhaps things are different in Hong Kong, he thinks, watching the way he’s excitedly tugging at Jaebum’s sleeve, unheeding of the potential danger. 

He looks away quickly when Jaebum glances up to meet his gaze dead on, eyes unsettlingly dark in his pale face as he brushes Jackson off. A chill runs down his spine. Weres he’s okay with, and he can accept even demigods like Mark, but the undead? He leans further into Bambam, wanting more of the comforting human warmth radiating off him. PD-nim must be as loony as Dispatch says, to let an undead win the national auditions. Yugyeom doesn’t give a flying fuck how good looking or talented he is.

The door swings open, and they all stand up in unison as Joon Park, leader of GOD, strides in, followed closely by their CEO. Yugyeom can’t really help the way he sinks into himself a little when the wolf’s gaze lands on him, assessing and just a touch cold. He never fails to feel like he’s being seen right through whenever it happens. 

“You must be wondering why you’re all gathered here today,” he says, leaning back on the hurriedly vacated couch as Joon smiles kindly at them from his spot next to him. Yugyeom smiles back, he likes Joon, he buys them meat sometimes. 

“As you know, the company is putting together the first hybrid idol group the country has ever had, and for the past few months, ever since the successful completion of the auditions, we’ve been deciding on the final lineup.” 

They don't need it spelled out any further. Bambam and Jinyoung’s twin gasps of surprise are covered by Jackson’s unnecessarily loud exclamation. “Really? The six of us, for real?” 

“Yes, Jackson, for real,” JY Park nods. His grin is full-on wolf. “The six of you, and one more boy who will be joining you soon. You’ll be training together starting today. Jinyoung, Yugyeom, Bambam, you three have been with the company the longest, so I’ll be counting on you to help the others settle in and get into the swing of things.” 

“Yes, PD-nim,” they murmur in assent.

“Jaebum, Mark, you both are the first nonhuman trainees in the company. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, let me or Joon here know. We’ll do our best to accommodate you.” 

“Will do, sir,” Jaebum replies. Pitched low, his voice is hypnotic. Yugyeom tamps down the urge to shudder. Damn vamps. 

“Great. Now, your schedule is clear for the rest of the day, as you’ll be moving into your new dorms today. So go home and pack, and once you’re ready, Noyoung will bring you there.” JY Park indicates the unassuming but stocky man who’s just entered the room. “He’ll be your manager from now on.” 

They bow to him as one and Noyoung waves back at them. JY Park smiles, pleased. 

“Well boys, I’ll leave you to it. I’m banking on you to make me loads of money. Don’t disappoint me.” 

He leaves amidst a chorus of ‘ _yes sir’_ s, the six boys immediately sizing each other up the second the door closes behind him. Bambam nudges Yugyeom in the side, excited. “Isn’t this amazing? We’re finally debuting!” 

“Yeah,” he replies, breaking into a reluctant smile when Jinyoung pulls a face at him, following it with a wide grin as he punches Yugyeom lightly in the shoulder. They’ve been training together for two years now, and truth be told, Yugyeom’s just a little bit sick of waiting. He’ll take this chance, even if it comes with a vampire, a half-dragon, and a Sympathizer. 

“I wonder who the last guy’s gonna be though,” he says, half to himself. Bambam just shrugs, turning to meet Jackson’s raised palm with a high five. 

Yugyeom watches them, watches Jinyoung walk up to Jaebum, hand outstretched the way they’re taught in tolerance classes, palm up and open. He watches the way Mark smiles at him, tentatively euphoric. The way the five of them gather together, as naturally as if they’ve been together from day one. Then Bambam is waving him over to join them, light glinting off metal braces as he grins. 

Sucking in a bracing breath, he nods and steps forward, hot all over at the coolly assessing gaze that lands on him. Fervently, he prays, _Just let the new guy be human_.


	5. Jinyoung's novel pain (GOT7 - Mark/Jinyoung; implied Jaebum/Jackson)

Jinyoung meets Mark for the first time in a dark and smoky bar that wasn’t at all conducive to manuscript reading. It had been Jackson’s suggestion, because Mark, he said, is  _ shy around strangers and prefers the dark and just trust me, Jinyoung, okay? _ He had looked a little wild around the eyes and it was that, more than anything, that made Jinyoung nod in agreement, despite knowing that nothing good ever comes out of  _ trusting _ Jackson. He then backs up slowly, until he’s a safe distance away. His friend can be dangerous when single-minded.

The appointment is at nine-fifteen, so he turns up at nine sharp. It’s early enough in the night that there aren’t too many people around, and the live band isn’t scheduled to play until eleven. Jinyoung checked. He counts it as a blessing—he didn’t want to introduce himself to a prospective writer in between screeching guitars and crashing drums.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for Jackson to show up. With him is a man dressed in an overlarge hoodie and ripped jeans. He’s skinny, and has what looks to Jinyoung like a youthful face. He gathers this from what little he manages to see, at least, that isn’t hidden by the shadow of the baseball cap jammed onto his head.

Not quite the intimidating, cloak-wearing vampire Jinyoung was half expecting. He doesn’t quite know whether to be relieved or disappointed about that fact.

“Jinyoung, meet Mark Tuan, my best friend, my brother from another mother. Mark, this is Park Jinyoung, the guy who’s gonna make you disgustingly rich, mark my words.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes at the pun, then holds out a friendly hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mark.”

It fazes him a little when he gets the barest of nods in reply, but then his hand is squeezed in a tight, ice cold grip that forces him to reassess his earlier opinion. Maybe he  _ is _ a creature of the night. He wouldn’t put it past Jackson, social butterfly extraordinaire, to actually know one.

Gesturing for them to take a seat, Jinyoung launches into the pitch he prepared in a rush this afternoon when Jackson had confirmed the meeting. He outlines why he thinks his work should be in print instead of a fan fiction website on the Internet, gushes about his turns of phrases and unconventional style. He lists the accolades he thinks—no,  _ knows _ —the work will get. He goes into length, with the aid of a flashy presentation put together by Bambam and a contract he’d had to beg Jaebum for, the amount of money Mark could make on royalties, book signings, and other appearances, should he want to do them.

He doesn’t forget to nudge Jackson in the side when he casually name drops the authors he’s worked with in the past, all popular, award-winning writers. Jackson, to his credit, doesn’t forget a single detail Jinyoung fed him over the phone, picking up where he trails off to affect humility, counting off on his fingers the books Jinyoung had propelled up bestsellers lists and the rookie writers into fame.

All in all, Jinyoung is feeling pretty pleased with himself and his proposal, so he’s stumped when Mark merely tilts his head at the end of their spiel without any sign of acceptance.

Bewildered, Jinyoung asks, “Is your cut not enough?” He looks over at Jackson, who only shrugs. “We can renegotiate.”

“No.”

It’s the first time he speaks that night, his voice a low rumble that is completely at odds with how he looks. Jinyoung cocks his head.

“No?”

“No, I’m not looking to publish that story.”

Jinyoung doesn’t think his eyebrows can go any higher. “You’re not?”

A curt head shake, and then Mark is leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. This close, Jinyoung finally sees the full lips, a straight nose, and bright round eyes that wouldn’t have been out of place on the face of a K-pop idol.

“What do you think about space cowboys?”

“Space cowboys?”

Jinyoung nods from where he’s sprawled out on the couch in Jaebum’s office, one arm over his eyes. It’s late morning on the following Sunday, and while he’s still nursing a slight hangover from the  _ soju _ shots they’d tossed back, he’d needed to debrief Jaebum on the negotiations. When he’d called, Jaebum told him to come on down to the office where Jinyoung finds him editing a script, the workaholic, elbow dangerously close to the coffee mug sitting at the edge of his desk.

“His premise sounded interesting enough. A buch of space explorers get stranded on an alien planet nada get involved in the local gangs, romance between the protagonist and an alien slave. The best of trashy romance and violent Western shootouts, combined. It’s promising.”

The scratching of Jaebum’s pen stops, and Jinyoung knows he’s gotten his attention.

“Could work. But make sure to figure out the physics of it though. Guns don’t work in a vacuum, I don’t think.”

“Whedon did it, I think,” Jinyoung shrugs. “He’s still looking over the contract, there’s no guarantee that he’ll sign, so we’ll see.”  He groans when his phone beeps with a text and peeks blearily at it before sliding it back into his pocket. “Your fiancé says you’ve got ten minutes before he comes over to drag you to the restaurant himself.”

The abrupt scrape of the chair against the wooden flooring makes Jinyoung wince. “Fuck. Our reservation.”

Jinyoung laughs at the way his boss, cool and composed and what intern nightmares are made of, is looking lost and panicked as he grabs his jacket, sticking his phone and wallet in the pockets and rushing out the door. “I expect a raise!” he calls after him before texting Jackson,  _ he just left, you owe me _ .

When the expected  _ anything you want _ beeps into his phone just seconds later, he screenshots it, just in case.

“ _ —I throw a naked Junior onto the bed, face down, taking crude pleasure in the way it makes the bedsprings creak as he bounces on the mattress, arousal shining in his deep orbs. The noise of the TV next door filters in through the thin motel walls, volume rising as though in encouragement as I lunge after the pale perky globes. Gripping them in my too-sweaty hands, I bend forward to lick hotly over the quivering asshole. I— _ ”

“Stop.”

Jinyoung pulls off his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose.

“First of all, ‘orbs’, really Mark? And ‘globes’? Are you a twelve year old writing your first piece of gay fan fiction? I expected better of you. Second, what kind of ridiculous name is Junior? And third, this is porn. If I recall correctly, I was promised a space cowboy epic.”

Mark shrugs, the sheaf of papers rustling in his hands as he holds them out. “You said to write when inspiration hit.”

“And it did, what, when you were jerking off in the shower?”

Again, that infuriating shrug Mark uses to replace actual words, and Jinyoung’s headache intensifies. Reaching across the kitchen island, he grabs the stack out of Mark’s hands—all thirteen pages of them, he counts later; thirteen pages of pure, unadulterated porn—and folds it into the briefcase he’s carrying.

“I’ll take this and look through it but only,” he wags a finger, “ _ Only _ if you promise to continue working on the book. We’re operating on a tight schedule here, Tuan.”

It takes a few moments of silence for the huff and muttered, “Fine. But you’ll read it?”

Jinyoung sighs. “Yes, Mark, I will. Now, about that chapter you sent me last week,” he starts.

And if the brilliant, toothy grin at his acquiescence stays at the forefront of Jinyoung’s mind for the better part of the day, it’s only because of the weight of a promise carelessly made and nothing more.

Really.

“Have you read it?” Mark asks the next time Jinyoung turns up at his apartment in pursuit of a draft that’s half a week behind the agreed upon deadline.

“Where’s my draft?” he asks instead, ignoring the bottom lip that juts out plaintively. It’s a skill he’s picked up early on in their partnership.

Still, he holds out the coffee he brought, grinning when Mark’s accusatory eyes shut in bliss at the first sip of the piping hot latte. It quickly slips off his face when the moan that follows shoots straight to Jinyong’s stomach, settling there in a warm weight.

Clearing his throat, he prods, “So do you have my draft ready?”

Mark ignores his question, instead pronouncing resentfully, “You haven’t read it. Your bribe won’t work on me.”

“Peace offering,” Jinyoung corrects, “Not a bribe. But if you don’t want it…” He nearly laughs at the possessive way Mark moves the takeaway cup out of his reach and shrugs. “I’ve been busy, Mark. You know that new writer I have, Bambam? Well, he’s on a roll and has been sending me new drafts every day. It’s all I can do to keep up with them.”

“I’ve been writing too,” Mark retorts. “Not my fault you don’t want to read it.”


	6. Switched (GOT7 - Gen; Jinyoung & Jackson)

When Jinyoung starts awake to a cry of “Oh my god, it’s actor Park Jinyoung!”, he barely, just barely resists the urge to fling his pillow at the intruder.

He’d come back to the dorm after a stressful evening of trying not to muck up his lines on _Inkigayo_ and hours of boring, unproductive meetings after that. And all that after a 3am call time to record voiceovers for his upcoming movie, which had followed hot on the heels of days, weeks, months—he’s lost track—of flying all around the world for fan meets. And Jinyoung loves his fans, really he does, but he’s _exhausted_ and there’s really no reason for Jackson to be dialing the volume up to eleven at—

“Are you fucking kidding me it’s 4am what is your fucking problem, Jackson?” he yells, and then draws his arm back to fling his pillow, hitting Jackson square in the face.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you,” comes the contrite reply, and Jinyoung nods in satisfaction before flopping back onto his futon. Good, he’ll get at least an hour more of shut eye before he has to get up again for a photo shoot, he thinks, heavy breathing and rustling filtering into his ears. Maybe more, if he lets Yugyeom and Bambam shower first. He’ll just close his eyes and slip right back into the welcoming arms of slumber, and—

With an angry groan, he springs up, immensely gratified by the way Jackson shrinks away immediately.

“Why the fuck are you still in my room?”

Jackson jumps, then says, with just a touch of defiance in his voice, “It’s _my_ room.”

And it’s ludicrous, really, that Jackson would be awake and in the mood to play a prank on him at this hour. And unlike Jaebum, Jinyoung has no intention of letting Jackson have his way.

“My mattress,” he stabs the futon under him in emphasis, glaring at Jackson. “My pillow.” Another stab. “My clothes,” he gestures at where they are behind him, and for the kicker, raises his arm to point at the bookshelf next to the door.

“ _My books_ …” except the triumphant declaration trails off uncertainly, because where the fuck are his books? Instead of a bookshelf, it’s a low vanity table loaded with lotions and creams and sprays. He turns, but instead of his neat wardrobe, he sees a crooked rack with clothes tossed haphazardly on top of it. He looks down then, and sees Jackson’s face staring back at him from the sheets.

Cursing, he leaps to his feet. “What did you do to my room?”

Jackson huffs, indignant. “I _told_ you, _it’s my room_.” He stands too, getting right into Jinyoung’s face, who’s certain that he would have thrown a punch if not for the squeaking of the door (his! door!) as it slides open.

“What’s going on here?”

It’s Jaebum with their manager in tow, and Jinyoung breathes a sigh of relief. Finally. He’s always been of the opinion that discipline is what Jackson needs, and while Jaebum (and everyone else in their social circle) is unable to say no to Jackson, their manager is luckily not subject to Jackson’s wiles. For now.

“Hyung, good, you’re here. Jackson wouldn’t stop insisting it’s his room, and look what he’s done! Even my books are gone,” he complains, pushing his bottom lip out and staring at Jaebum expectantly.

Except what used to work like a charm doesn’t, because their leader just stares blankly at them and says, “Who are you?”

He blinks. “Hyung, come on, it’s way lame to join forces with Jackson on pranks, we decided that a long time ago.” He ignores Jackson’s whispered “He’s Park Jinyoung, the actor, hyung, he was in the drama we watched earlier.”

“Was he?” Jaebum leans closer to peer at Jinyoung’s face, then hums. “I didn’t recognize him without the makeup.”

“What the fuck?” He takes a step forward but is blocked by Seunghoon.

“Hey, I don’t know how you got in here, but actor or not, you can’t be here.”

“You too, hyung? For fuck’s sake, cut it out.”

Jaebum’s eyes narrow in warning. “Watch your language.” He looks satisfied when Jinyoung mumbles an automatic apology, then tilts his head. “But, how did you get in here? Who gave you the code?”

“I told you, _I live here!_ ” Jinyoung all but shouts, and Jackson moves to hide behind Jaebum, eyes wide. The disbelieving stares have him casting around for something that would make them believe him. “The tank of the toilet in the hall leaks at the bottom because the rubber fastener has hardened and no one can be bothered to call the plumber. Yugyeom’s mom brings side dishes and kimchi every two weeks. Coco shits wherever she wants because she’s a little turd herself but her favorite spot is in your shoe, Jaebum hyung, because you scare the fuck out of her even if you don’t mean to, our key code is Nora’s birthday, and I know all this because I. Live. Here!”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Seunghoon says. “We can’t be responsible for actor Park Jinyoung rupturing something in our dorm from stress. Come on out to the living room, we’ll talk there. Jaebum, wake the others. Maybe they know him and let him in. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

 

They don’t know him. Or well, they all pretend not to know him, and Jinyoung is this close to grabbing the pair of scissors on the table and stabbing himself with it to see if it’ll finally wake him up. Because after surmising that this has to be a dream, there’s no other explanation, he’s tried pinching himself, to no avail. Maybe he has to draw blood, who knows.

“Like I said, I’ve lived here for the past five years, however long you guys have too. We moved in together, Jaebum hyung, Mark hyung, and Jackson, because we were in the other dorm. We’ve established that.”

“Yes, but it was just the three of us, without you. And as for our band, it’s always just been us six,” Jackson counters mulishly for the eighth time that night. Jinyoung counted.

Bambam and Yugyeom both nod, making Jinyoung seethe on the inside, and he hopes, outwardly. He thinks he does, because they both shrink back a little, back into the protective folds of the group of six (supposed to be seven) he doesn’t belong to (but is supposed to, goddamnit!)

“We’ve been going around in circles the whole night,” Jaebum finally speaks up. He nods at Jinyoung’s fervent _thank you_ , albeit in a way you do to a complete stranger and oh, that _hurts._ “And we’re going nowhere. So I propose that we let it be for tonight, get some sleep, and figure this out tomorrow.”

“Finally. Something constructive. See, this is why we chose you as leader, hyung.” Jinyoung nods in satisfaction. He makes it two steps in the direction of his room, before he’s stopped by the cold lash of Jaebum’s voice.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To my room,” he says, deliberately slow, emphasis on the _my_. “To sleep.”

“Yeah, nope. That’s Jackson’s room. Famous actor or not, you’re taking the couch.”

“Take the—but—” His spluttering is met with stony, still-suspicious faces and oh, for fuck’s sake. “Fine.”

He stomps over to the couch, eyes it in silent offense, and plops down on it. The worn leather sinks in with long, reluctant _fwomph_. Crossing his arms, he waits for the others to go back to their respective rooms. Then he sighs and arranges himself into a horizontal position, head pillowed on the arm rest. He’s fucking exhausted.

He falls asleep between one breath and the next, in the way only the truly tired can, which is why he only faintly registers the strong arms that lift and cradle his head to slide a pillow underneath, and the soft blanket that’s carefully tucked around him. Snuffling, he buries his nose into the pillow, familiarly sweet, and slips deeper into sleep.


	7. Jeonjaengiya (GOT7 - Jaebum/Yugyeom)

Jaebum returns to the dorm after a grueling day of rehearsals, fittings, and shoots to Yugyeom doing his very best approximation of a puppy. 

An oversized puppy who’s also glaring at them in resentment, and Jaebum winces. 

“Jinyoung,” he starts, but the younger is already breezing past with a muttered, “You talk to him.” He hasn’t even formulated an argument against it when he’s already disappearing into his room. The quiet snick of the door echoes loudly in the living room. 

With a sigh, Jaebum toes his shoes off and heads toward their youngest, dropping his bag behind the couch. 

“Gyeom?” Settling himself next to the curled up form, he lifts a hand to Yugyeom’s nape, running his fingers through the short hair there. “What’s up?” 

Yugyeom lifts his head, turns to face Jaebum. The glare earlier has morphed into a pout, and god, he's so cute it makes Jaebum want to grin. With effort, he stifles it, pasting on a suitably grave expression, and squeezing his nape a little, asks again, “What is it?”

“I didn’t get tickets,” is the mournful answer he hears, and he’s momentarily confused, until Yugyeom furnishes, “For the showcase. I wanted to go.” 

Oh, this. Even though he’s heard about Yugyeom’s first ticketing experience from their manager, he can’t help it, he laughs. “Gyeom-ah, you know you can just walk in right?” 

“It’s not the same!” 

Jaebum recoils a little from the outburst, then has to brace himself from falling back onto the couch when Yugyeom all but squirms into his lap. When he buries his face against Jaebum’s neck, Jaebum automatically starts petting him, stroking him like he’s one of his cats. It makes the tension melt out of him almost immediately. 

“I wanted to get tickets on my own for the first time and go see you,” Yugyeom whines. “And Jinyoung hyung too, of course,” he adds belatedly. “But your fans are insane and everything was gone in seconds, hyung it isn’t fair.” 

“They're your fans too, probably," Jaebum says, before quickly adding, "You’re right, it’s not,” as soothingly as he can, trying his hardest not to laugh. He gets a smack on the shoulder for his efforts. 

Yugyeom looks up then, and the look in his eyes makes Jaebum’s narrow. That look never bodes well. 

“It’s not. So as president of the JJ Project fanclub, I demand a private show.” 

Grinning, Jaebum waggles his eyebrows, and makes a show of sliding the hem of his shirt up to reveal his stomach. It gets him another smack, the disrespectful brat. With a laugh, Jaebum grabs Yugyeom’s hand and stands, hauling him up. Rising onto his toes, he lays a quick kiss on Yugyeom’s still-pouting lips, and takes great satisfaction in seeing him flush. 

“Let me take a quick shower, and I’ll show you whatever you want,” he says meaningfully. 


	8. Reciprocal (GOT7 - Jaebum/Yugyeom)

Jaebum is in between scenes when his phone buzzes.

“Yugyeom? What’s up?”

To say he’s surprised is an understatement. Yugyeom has never called him, they’ve barely spoken to each other beyond the usual greetings and hyung-dongsaeng pleasantries, read: Jaebum unenthusiastically offering to treat the younger ones to meat soon and them apathetically accepting. Of course, the hypothetical ‘soon’ never comes.

Sure he’s stood up for him a few times, especially when some of the seniors oppose to him tagging along on outings. And there’s that one time Yugyeom happened to catch him while he’s taking advantage of a free practice room to work on some moves, but the perfunctory _that’s really cool hyung_ and then the awkwardness as he offers to teach it to him because the kid is a good dancer and a fast learner, and the responding _yeah sure that’ll be great_ followed by a clearly longing look at the door.  

Point is, whatever shared experiences or memories he and Yugyeom have isn’t really grounds for a friendship. For _anything_ -ship, really. So suffice to say he’s surprised by the call, and even more so when he finally deciphers what Yugyeom is telling him through barely-contained sobs. There’s a little bit of pride and gratification mixed in among it though, that Yugyeom’s reached out to _him_. He’d have thought he’s closer to Jinyoung, or even Shownu. Jaebum isn’t as unfeeling as he looks; he’s heard what the newcomers (and some of the oldtimers) say about him, about his quick temper and quicker fists. Even Jinyoung gives him a wide berth when they don’t have to work together.

“Look, Yugyeom, I’m sure he’s just joking around, he’s harmless.” He shakes his head at Jinyoung’s mouthed _what’s going on_ , indicates that he’ll tell him later. “Just stay out of his way, yeah? Look the director is calling us back onto the set, I’ll talk to you later.”

He hangs up once he gets the wavery _okay hyung, I’m sorry for disturbing you_ and Jinyoung immediately rounds on him, protective instincts flaring. “It’s that American guy again isn’t it? He’s tormenting Yugyeom again.”

Jaebum sighs. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, he’s just kidding around, it’s just his size that makes it more threatening,” he tries, but it sounds weak even to his ears, and he winces at Jinyoung’s clearly skeptical look. “I’ll talk to him,” he promises.

Jinyoung’s phone rings then. “It’s Yugyeom,” he tells Jaebum as he answers it, concerned and comforting. He’s much better than Jaebum had been, and Jaebum moves aside so Jinyoung can work his magic in relative privacy.

And if he later corners Jun in a hallway to tell him that if he ever, _ever_ lays a finger on any of the juniors again he’ll have Jaebum to reckon with, that’s between the two of them. Rumors are good for something after all.

 

-

 

Moving in with eight other teenage boys isn’t the easiest thing in the world for anyone, but for Im single-child, grew-up-on-an-open-farm, I-need-my-own-space Jaebum, it’s one of the hardest adjustments of finally signing his soul away.

(The exec and the lawyer his mom hired didn’t exactly phrase it that way, but Jaebum can read between the lines.)

The boys aren’t bad. Despite his and Jinyoung’s debut, they’re all direct competition, even Jinyoung and Yugyeom, and cherub-faced Bambam, but he’s friendly enough with them that he’s mostly okay with sharing the limited space in the cramped apartment. It still gets a little tense between him and Youngjae and Mark, ever since their verbal throwdown a week ago, and Brian mostly turns tail to head the other way whenever they bump into each other in the common areas (and with the size of the apartment, it happens pretty often), but it’s mostly okay. He’s got Youngjae, after all, and Jinyoung and Sungjin. It helps that he’s one of the oldest.

It helps too that he has Nora, helps a lot actually with the perception of the other guys towards him. According to Sungjin, Jackson had spied on Jaebum playing with her for a good five minutes before tentatively joining in, doe eyes wary. Jaebum just slides him a glance before handing him the cat toy, which Jackson takes as permission to make conversation. It’s half in clumsy Korean and half in an indecipherable mix of English and Cantonese, but Jaebum finds it a vast improvement from the way he’d holler _b-boy king, hey, b-boy king_ apropos of nothing, so he just nods and murmurs non-committal responses where they seem to fit.

So although he’d hated it at first, he eventually gets used to it—to skating by the river with Mark and Brian, making the short trek to the practice building with Youngjae, late night chats over _ramyeon_ with Sungjin and Jinyoung. They mostly leave the youngest two to their own devices, who seem to be in their own world most of the time anyway, having decided almost instantaneously that they would be each other’s best friend. And the days pass without incident, with school and lessons and b-boying and late night suppers.

Then Youngjae leaves.

Jaebum only hears about it from Hwitaek, who’s in the same Japanese language class as him, and when his texts go unanswered, tears back to the dorm the second it ends. But it’s too late, the bunk next to him is cleaned out, the mattress stripped bare, the half of the drawer they share emptied. Three years and he doesn’t even warrant a goodbye. Jaebum sits down on his bed, jaw clenched.

There’s a knock on the door, and then he hears Yugyeom’s voice, hesitant.

“Hyung? Youngjae hyung said to give this to you.”

He holds out an envelope. It’s crisp and white, unsealed. Jaebum takes it and reads it, jaw tightening even more with every word. He’s not sure why he’s angry; he’d jump at the chance to debut too. Who would want to remain in a position that is rife with uncertainty? But for him to not have a clue, for Youngjae to not say anything—he’s so engrossed in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Yugyeom entering the room. He’s sitting gingerly on the edge of Youngjae’s mattress, hands clasped on his thighs. He seems off, Jaebum notes absently, although he’s too angry to decipher it, let alone care. But he’s not given a choice, because Yugyeom’s wavery _hyung_ , so familiar, stops him mid-sentence in asking him to leave.

“Hyung, have you ever thought about what you’ll do if you don’t, don’t make it?” he says, so softly Jaebum has to strain his ears to catch it. That’s when he notices the red-rimmed eyes, the way his fingers are twisting around each other, the fine trembling of his lips, and, crap, Jinyoung’s the one who’s good at comforting, not him, why can’t Yugyeom go to him?

But well, he’s the elder in this relationship, and last he checked, the only one in the dorm right now and with the way Yugyeom is right now, he’s not sure what will happen if he tells him to scram, so he pats the spot next to him instead. He thinks his answer through as he waits for Yugyeom to shuffle over, sitting with his head so low it almost touches his knees, and slides an arm around him to press his head down onto his shoulder.

“Honestly? I haven’t,” he tells the younger, who, now that he’s got his face partially hidden, is apparently letting his previously checked emotions flow. Jaebum resigns himself to being the wearer of a tear-stained shirt for the next quarter of an hour or so.

“Look, you’re scared, I get it. Right now nothing’s certain and you could get booted after the next assessment. To tell the truth, aside from dance, the rest of your scores are...”

He trails off at the soft sniffle, and momentarily wonders if he’s being a little too harsh. He’s _really_ not good at this, where’s Jinyoung when you need him? Apologetically, he pats Yugyeom on the arm, squeezes it affectionately.

“And it’s the same for hyung too, you know? We got graded into the same group after all. But so what? We can’t do anything about past assessments and we can’t predict the future, so the only thing we can do is work hard _now_ , you know?”

Yugyeom’s hair tickles his neck as he nods, Sniffing, he straightens, leaving Jaebum feeling strangely bereft. He doesn’t dwell on it.

“I will. Sorry hyung, for,” he gestures embarrassedly at the wet patch on Jaebum’s shirt after swiping at his eyes.  

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry about Youngjae hyung too. I know you were close.”

Jaebum shrugs. “It happens, Gyeom, and it’ll happen again.”

Later, when Shownu and Hwitaek leave he’ll marvel at how prophetic his words his words were. But his entire focus is on Yugyeom now, on making him feel better, so he cuffs the younger on the neck—gently, Yugyeom’s been through enough roughhousing—saying, “Come on, let’s get meat. My treat.”

And if the brightness of Yugyeom’s answering smile, tremulous as it is, makes him feel something even stranger than the wanting earlier, well, he doesn’t dwell on _that_ either.


	9. A Very Important Mission (Prince of Tennis - Akaya/Krauser)

“Akaya?”

Without looking behind him, Akaya shushes Yukimura. Buchou or no, he’s interrupting his Very Important Mission, and it’s not to be tolerated. At all.

He should have known that Yukimura wouldn’t be deterred.

“Akaya, what are you doing?”

“Shush, buchou, I’m collecting data.”

There’s a shift in the air, and then he feels Yukimura’s head peek out next to him from the edge of the wall, blue curls tickling his cheek. He smells nice, like fresh laundry and shampoo, despite having just come from a practice match. Unlike Sanada, who, as a mere mortal, always stinks to high heaven after training, metallic tang of gunpowder clinging to him.

Impatiently, Akaya brushes him away and turns around. He stops short of outright glaring because this is Yukimura-buchou after all, but takes care to make his displeasure respectful but clear.

“You’re in the way of my mission, buchou!”

“What mission? You’re just watching Krauser—” Yukimura breaks off, gaze sharpening. The jacket on his shoulder flutters from a phantom wind and Akaya makes a conscious effort to not flinch. “You’re watching Krauser,” his captain says, much too slowly for Akaya’s comfort. “Why?”

“I’m just—”

“Just gathering information on the enemy, is what you want to say.”

Crap, not Yagyuu-senpai too! Worse still, it's Yagyuu-senpai in Yanagi-senpai mode, which he's been in since Yanagi-senpai gave up his spot in the U-17s for Akaya. Akaya winces, shakes his head violently to rid it of negative thoughts, and with one last, non-lingering look at the slim form pounding out miles on the treadmill, ducks back into the hallway and pushes them both back down it so they’re in no danger of being found out.

“Go away,” he whines.

Yagyuu ignores him, turning to Yukimura. “Having considered all possibilities, I hypothesize that there’s a 97% chance our Akaya has a crush.”

Akaya splutters. “I don’t have a—a _crush_. I’m spying! On his training regimen! And stop pretending to be Yanagi-senpai!”

“Ninety-nine per cent,” Yagyuu concludes.

Yukimura laughs, grabbing onto Akaya’s collar before he can ram his head into the conveniently placed wall.


	10. Festival AU (GOT7 - Jaebum/Yugyeom)

If there’s one thing Jaebum absolutely despises, it’s the festival circuit.

It’s always much too hot and much too crowded, the former made worse by having to stand in front of a heated grill all day, and the latter by the copious amounts of alcohol and other… substances that are always present at these things. He hates it, but as Jinyoung likes to say, the broke can’t choose. If they want to make up for the shortfall from school summer breaks, they’ve got to come to terms with gritting their teeth, putting their heads down, and focusing on the work.

It’s not usually bad. Two years into their venture into F&B with zero experience at business or food except Jinyoung’s half-complete business degree and Jaebum’s years of feeding them both when they lived at the dorms ( _courageous_ , says Jackson; _absolutely insane_ , go both their mothers), they’ve come to make quite a good name for themselves, and paid back Jinyoung’s father for the seed money he’d loaned them, plus interest. They’ve even worked out a system within the truck. The division of labor is clear—Jinyoung mans the register and is the face of the business while Jaebum cooks and assembles inside.

It’s not too far removed from the way they work in the university cafeteria, except there are no walls for Jaebum to hide behind. His first condition when Jinyoung brought up the food truck was that he didn’t have to talk to anyone, especially not drunk, high teenagers dressed in next to no clothing as they pretend to be into whatever indie flavor of the month is playing. He has zero patience for that. So far, it’s been going great, better than Jaebum expected. His grumpy, pessimistic side might just transform into sunshine and butterflies at this rate.

He’s scrolling through his Instagram Explore feed to double tap all the cat photos when someone calls out, and damn it, he’s judged too quickly. He’s loath to answer, because of course Jinyoung has conveniently headed off to the bathroom just moments before, and besides, he’s put up the _be back in ten!_ sign Youngjae had made for them. He’s fully ready to just ignore it and fake deafness for the minute or five it takes for the newcomer to give up, except the _hellooo_ is followed by a banging on the side of the truck and, well. That’s just uncalled for.

Annoyed, Jaebum heads over to window, scathing recrimination at the ready. It vanishes when he sees the customer (he sees the bright yellow hair first, actually), but he thankfully manages to hold on to the sentiment, if not the exact words, even as most of his mind is reduced to _holy shit_ , and _pretty_ , and _HOLY SHIT_.

“Yeah?” is what he says instead.

And honestly, it should be a crime to be this pretty even with his eyes narrowed (and his hair that shade of violent yellow. Jaebum had no idea yellow could even _be_ violent). “This is how you greet customers?”

Jaebum shrugs. “Yeah.”

The shortness of his reply stumps the customer, who draws back, blinking and befuddled. It’s adorable, and Jaebum wants him to stay like that forever, like he’s stepped out from between pages of manhwa, all too-large eyes framed by too-long eyelashes set in too-pale skin. He’s like a midsummer night’s dream, a tall drink of water, and all sorts of clichés Jaebum didn’t know he had a repository of in his mind. He’s beginning to think there should be pink bubbles and sparkles floating in the air, which is what makes him forcibly pause in his, uh, admiration of him, to bite out, “What’s it you want?”

The customer frowns. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind.”

Jaebum barely has time to despair about him walking away when he’s stopped by another boy, not quite as beautiful as his but pretty nonetheless despite his head of bleached white hair (honestly, kids these days!), who bounds up and links their arms. Huh.

“Have you ordered yet?”

“No, Bam, let’s get something else.”

“But this is the famous cup rice all over IG! They got a mention on Hi-Cut, and on JaeSix’s channel. We’ve got to try it, come on Yugyeom,” he wheedles.

 _Yugyeom_. Jaebum files the name away, together with the way his shoulders move as he sighs and turns back. They’re nice shoulders. He pastes what he hopes is a friendly expression on his face, the way Jinyoung trained him. Jinyoung. If only he were here now.

“Can we get one tuna, one black pork, and one veggie please?” the one named Bam says winningly, the cheeriness of his voice bringing a reluctant smile onto Yugyeom’s face. “Mark hyung said he’s still hungry. Oh and three beers too.”

Nodding, Jaebum grabs the beers from the fridge and hands them a bottle opener before heading to the back. “Be ready in a few.”

He cracks a couple of eggs onto the grill and gets the pork grilling, then starts assembling the orders. The sound of Yugyeom and Bam chatting and laughing together drifts in from the open window. Once the eggs and pork are done, he places them over steaming rice and tops all three with sauce and garnish (and love. So much love. He hopes Yugyeom tastes it.) Flipping his dishrag over one shoulder, he carries all three bowls to the window.

“Here you go, enjoy.” Taking one last look at the pretty boy, he turns back into the truck only for a voice stops him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Huh?” And god, how he wishes he could take a picture of the way Yugyeom is grinning up at him, eyes crinkled at the corners, sunlight bouncing off his dark hair like a blinding halo. Jaebum could write sonnets about it. “What do you mean?”

It’s only when he pulls out his wallet that Jaebum realizes he’s forgotten to ask them for payment. Thank god Jinyoung isn’t here, he’ll never let Jaebum live it down. He takes the bank notes and moves to the cash register, frowning down at it. Because of course Jinyoung had just upgraded it, and Jaebum hasn’t bothered to learn how to use it. This is why he had Youngjae make the sign, damn it!


	11. Sweet (GOT7 - Jaebum/Jackson; Mark/Jinyoung; past Jaebum/Jinyoung)

If Jackson doesn’t stop staring at the takeaway cup, Jaebum thinks, rather uncharitably, he’s going to go permanently cross-eyed.

“It’s coffee, Jackson. Just coffee, from the place down the street that you like.”

So explained, Jaebum pushes it closer to him. When he still doesn’t move a muscle, Jaebum sighs, a loud, put out one. Honestly.

“It’s not poisoned, don’t worry. Here.”

He takes a sip, wincing a little at the scalding temperature and the bitterness. For the life of him, he doesn’t _get_ drinking coffee black. Jackson can continue to nag about his sugar intake for the rest of their lives—syrup has never done anything to offend Jaebum.

Replacing the lid, he holds it up to his boyfriend, who thankfully accepts it this time. Sure, he’s just holding on to it like it’s a complex puzzle he needs to solve, but at least he’s blinked about four times now. Jaebum counted.

“It’s for me?” Before Jaebum can even think to roll his eyes, he continues, “I mean, why are you buying me coffee?”

“Why the hell can’t I?”

Jackson just shrugs. “You don’t do things like this though? Go out of your way to do stuff for me. You’re not… I mean, I’m not complaining, but hyung, you gotta admit you’re not the type to be, well. Sweet.”

“I can too be sweet.” Jaebum feels oddly hurt by the matter-of-fact tone Jackson employs to tell him he thinks he hasn’t been a good boyfriend. By the fact that Jackson has been thinking he isn’t a good boyfriend, yet not saying anything to him anyway. He sets his jaw mulishly. “I _can_.”

Jackson’s laugh is quiet, muffled by him _finally_ sipping from the cup. Jaebum really wishes he wouldn’t do that, because it leaves a lingering bitterness on Jaebum’s lips when he leans over to give him a quick peck.

“Of course. You’re the sweetest babe.”

And he’s turning his attention back to his textbook again, clearly putting Jaebum and the past few minutes out of his mind. _Well then_.

Settling back into the cheap plastic of the library chair, Jaebum crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. Challenge accepted.

 

And so commences Operation ‘Serve Jaebum with a side of whipped cream’, which Mark and Jinyoung coin between indelicate snorts once Jaebum finishes recounting his eventful morning. Except, as Mark helpfully points out, “Jackson doesn’t really have a sweet tooth, Jaebum, you might want to go with something a little more… spicy.” Which doesn’t make sense in the least, because they’re all well-acquainted with Jackson’s nonexistent ability to handle spicy food.

Next to him, Jinyoung lets out a cackle of laughter before covering his mouth to muffle it, high-fiving Mark. Not for the first time, Jaebum regrets introducing the two of them, regrets the lapse of judgment that had him dating Jinyoung, no matter how briefly.

“He said I don’t go out of my way to do things for him.” Jaebum shakes his head. “Patently untrue.”

He doesn’t like the look Mark and Jinyoung exchange, much less the careful way Jinyoung says, “Hyung, you are pretty… passive, you know?”

“What?”

Jinyoung shrugs. “You’re just not the most demonstrative partner, that’s all. It’s not a negative, not really,” he hurries to reassure Jaebum, whose jaw already kind of aches from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. “But a gesture once in a while would have been nice.”

His expression goes faraway, and Jaebum is suddenly struck by the memory of Jinyoung telling him the exact same thing when they broke up. It hurts less now, even though it’s no less confusing. He watches the way Jinyoung leans into Mark when the latter slides an arm around his waist, easy and comforting. Come to think of it, they’ve never gotten to that level of ease with each other when they were dating. He and Jackson certainly haven’t.

“I’m not a flower kind of person, you know that. And neither is Jackson,” he informs them.

Jinyoung laughs. “I’m not saying you need to get Jackson flowers. Just show him that you care, that’s all. Like how you got him coffee today.”

Deciding not to tell him that it was 1-for-1 day at their cafe and Jaebum didn’t want to have two coffees or throw one away, he files it away for later consideration. Show Jackson he cares for him. He can do that, easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was actually planning to flesh this out into a proper fic but well
> 
> might unmorgue it if i ever get around to writing it (which defeats the purpose of morgueing but hey)


	12. Witch's brew (Young K/Dowoon)

It’s only supposed to take twenty minutes.

Brian has brewed this particular tonic a hundred, hell, a _thousand_ times over the years, he could do it with his eyes closed. Sewed shut, even, by one of Jaehyung’s vicious spells, quick to leave the tongue. Brian grows tired of telling him it’s the unspoken _intent_ behind his words, has long given up on cautioning him to _think before you speak_. At least he has ever since learning the hard way that Jaehyung does his best casting wordless.

It’s a talent, one Brian envies him for despite having specialties of his own, like potion brewing. He mostly works on tonics—all purpose recovery, extra charm, pep in your step, harmless ones really. If he’s short on cash he’ll whip up a batch of luck or love, cordial sweet. Rarely, very rarely, he gets a commission for poisons. Nothing terribly injurious, his heart is never in those, just something with symptoms that could be mistaken for a passing bug. It’s a bonus for him when those orders come in, because he’ll then get a recovery order a couple of days later from the recipient. All business is good business, after all.

Today though, he’s just working on a tonic for Sungjin that aids hair growth. The older mage had impulsively shaved off his hair a few days ago, following a vague threat from Wonpil about using knot magic to bind his hands when he wouldn’t stop backseat driving in the kitchen. While he hasn’t expressed any regrets, Brian knows better.

The concoction is just starting to bubble when the bell on the door jingles, there for times when Wonpil, the only one of them with foresight, isn’t manning the shop. Like today, for instance, him having ducked out to accompany Jaehyung to the airport, the American mage home-bound for Thanksgiving. Brian didn’t begrudge them the time together, knowing they’ll be forced apart for the better part of two months. Still, he can’t help a little pinprick of annoyance as he shut off the stove and wipes his hands on his apron, heading out to the front of the shop.

“Yes?”

The man is clearly a nonmage, given how he’s carelessly standing right in the center of the pentagram tiled to the floor. He’s cute though, Brian notes absently, with floppy hair, a straight nose, and round eyes that grow wider with every inch of the shop he takes in.

“Is that a _frog_ in that jar?”

“Toad,” Brian corrects. A yellow-bellied one to be specific, a key ingredient in virility potions and delicious in tomato stews, but it’s not like he’ll know what to do with the information. “Can I help you?”

Stepping up to Brian, the customer holds out his hand, which Brian shakes. “Dowoon. Yoon Dowoon, I work with Sungjin hyung. He’s asked me to meet him here?”

Right. Sungjin has mentioned a Dowoon in passing; he’s one of the bartenders at the pub he works in. But he’s only deigned to complain about his clumsiness instead of how cute he is. Or how delicious his baritone sounds. This despite knowing that Brian is on the market, has been desperately on the market for almost a century now.  

Brian mentally removes the lizard’s breath from his recipe. His tonic will still work, but it’ll just take twice the amount of time to. Serves him right for being a terrible friend.

He puts on a winsome smile. “Right. I’ll get him for you,” he says, reaching behind himself to untie the bow of the apron and pulling it off. “He’s just in the back.”

He isn’t, but Dowoon doesn’t need to know that, he thinks as he whispers the words to a summoning spell once the door has shut tightly after him. The Sungjin that appears is barely awake, sporting ridiculous bedhead, and when he raises his head, a glare that could stoke hellfire.

Brian ignores it. “A Yoon Dowoon is here for you,” he says, going back to the pot on the stove. He twists the knob to light it up.

“Ah shit.”

The other choice curses he tacks on fades out as he heads out to the shop, and Brian is definitely not cocking his ears to listen in on the low mutter of conversation, Dowoon’s surprisingly high-pitched laugh. He’s a giggler too, which, _cute_.

Then Sungjin is breezing back into the tiny kitchen, bumping him out of the way for the kettle. Over the sound of it filling at the tap, Brian casually asks, “Your friend, he’s left? He’s a curious one, for a nonmage.”

He only gets a flat look in response, which, rude. With a roll of his eyes, Brian murmurs the words to send Sungjin back upstairs—he can’t leave on his own accord since he was summoned—before using a ladle to scoop out the elderflowers, too.

Then he thinks the better of it, and just dumps the entire pot into the sink. He’s got better things to do now, like mining every scrap of information he can on one Yoon Dowoon. He can’t wait to see what he finds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be for halloween and longer but halloween was yesterday and i lost the plot with this so here we are
> 
> i love warlock/potions master brian :3


End file.
